


Til Death Do Us Part

by CarrieMaxwell



Series: The Hogwart Drabbler: short stories no one asked for [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Forced Marriage, Foul Language, POV Hermione Granger, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), ambiguous ending, bitch will tear down this Ministry if she has to, dragged kicking and screaming, over my dead body, unhappily married, use of Unforgivable spells, wizards' duel, would rather die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29016927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrieMaxwell/pseuds/CarrieMaxwell
Summary: A forced marriage fic that ends most unexpectedly for Hermione.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: The Hogwart Drabbler: short stories no one asked for [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922026
Comments: 28
Kudos: 35





	Til Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> Everybody loves a good Forced Marriage trope where everything eventually works out in the end, right?
> 
> Well what if the Ministry really fucked it up this time by pairing the two most incompatible compatible people together with enough hatred between them to reduce London to ashes?
> 
> Let's just say, this is the shortest marriage in Wizarding History.
> 
> From Hermione's perspective.

It was preposterous.

Utterly ridiculous.

Absolute madness.

To think it had actually passed approval.

It bypassed so many violations of basic human rights.

Did the Wizengamot truly not care for the people they hurting with this decree?

In the end, it didn’t really matter.

No amount of protesting, posturing, or procrastination worked.

They were wedded regardless.

And not happily.

Unlike the joyous union between Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger was doomed to a life bound to her arch enemy and classmate bully.

There would be no divorce. 

There would be running away.

There would be no infidelity thanks to a spell to ensure that whatever children born in their union would be from them and them alone.

She was not only forced into marriage to him, but also then forced to move into his obscene mansion-to live in the very home where she was tortured-and expected to produce half-blood heirs to repopulate the wizarding with.

She would be forced to own house elves.

She would be forced to answer to the name of Mrs. Malfoy.

She would be forced to endure his sneer and cruel words and piercing eyes and be loathed merely for the blood in her veins. 

She would be forced to have her meals with him. To attend public events with him. And share the same bed with him.

Every. Single. Day.

Over My Dead Body she had declared vehemently, spittle flying into the faces of the Aurors grabbing her arms as she tried flinging spells, hell-bent on destroying the Ministry if that’s what it took to escape. She’d made a gallant effort, sending many to St. Mungo’s with a litany of injuries caused by both magical and muggle means, earning some herself.

She made a memorable bride for sure with a bloody lip, tussled hair and a partially torn dress, held fast in the grips of two battered Aurors who refused to meet anyone’s eye as they were just merely doing their job. Their opinion had no bearing on the matter.

She nearly bit her tongue off in refusal to saying the dreaded words but in the end the spell compelled her.

The system had failed her.

The fucking war had failed her.

Everything she had spent her life learning and fighting for meant nothing in the end, none of her glorious deeds and titles amounted to shit as she was handed over to the one person she hated most on the face of the earth-never minding that he felt the exact same way-and treated like a commodity to entertain the masses.

Bound to him with a gaudy diamond adorning her left ring finger.

A finger she wanted to cut off and shove down his throat when he protested handing over a family heirloom to the likes of her.

There was no way they were compatible.

Absolutely not.

So fucking what if he was intelligent? She was The Brightest Witch of Her Age.

(Take that you fucking wanker albino-arsed bitch.)

So fucking what if he excelled in magic? She was a War Heroine. 

(One of the youngest recipients of an Order of Merlin.)

So fucking what if he had a thousand years of pureblood genetics? He was still an elitist piece of shit. And apparently always would be.

So fucking what if he had more galleons than one could spend in a lifetime? She’d donate it all to every charity and come up with a thousand more just to bankrupt his arse. She’d pay an exorbitant amount to all the House Elves that would make them richer than the damn Weasley’s in half a year’s time.

So fucking what if he had been coerced into the Death Eaters acts as a teenager? She’d nearly died due to him and his family several times over. He nearly killed Katie and Ron in his pathetic attempts at Dumbledore’s life.

If anything, he owed her his life a dozen times over. None of which needed to be fulfilled in a physical manner, just with his precious goblin gold and his body locked away in Azkaban. Where he belonged. Forget ever testifying for him. Clearly a mistake on her part. Whatever Harry had been able to forgive was his and his alone now. As far as she was concerned Draco Malfoy had earned nothing from her and wouldn’t with his own protestation of this unholy union. None of which had been for any concern of hers. It was nothing but ‘how could you do this to me?’ and ‘haven’t I suffered enough?’. 

What a class act.

But the Wizengamot was trying a new tactic, trying to eliminate the amount of inmates and only punishing criminals with the use of imprisonment as a last resort, for truly devious crimes that couldn’t be repaired with community service and a memory wipe.

Hell, she even offered to be obliviated. It would be fitting, to lose herself in the way she lost her parents and live in ignorant bliss instead of this life long prison sentence of matrimony. 

Oh the irony.

Her friends looked on with mournful eyes, whispering words of encouragement and their condolences, as if they had any power to offer aid other than with their love for her and hope that a miracle could save her. Not even the prospect of the enormous famed Malfoy library could bring a silver lining. She’d rather burn it down than be his wife.

It wasn’t long after the pitiful excuse for a ceremony that the couples dispersed through the Floo networks to their own homes, some more thrilled than others with their partners. Those who didn’t quite see how they were compatible with their selected partner but shrugged and sighed and said they’d just have to spend some time getting to know each other as they knew there were no other options. Others could hardly wait to Floo out of there to get a jumpstart on their honeymoons.

Lucky bastards.

She and her unfortunate partner remained last, giving all their friends their own parting words, wishing those couples all the best and meaning it, bitterly joking that it could be so much worse, I mean just look at us for Merlin’s sake. There were hugs and tears and whispered words of encouragement and promises of meeting up later with a bottle of Ogden’s Finest to drink away their woes and forced laughs until there was nothing left keeping them there.

It was time to go home.

Home.

As if that word had any meaning to her any more.

She’d long ago lost Home and Family and now, Hope.

All she wanted now was to watch it burn.

He wasn’t pleased with the arrangement either, as evident by the permanent snarl in his voice and the curl of his lip when he deigned himself to look in her direction. He made comments about preferring Azkaban over this any day or just lobbing off his favorite body part since he’d never be using it again.

All of which she agreed to.

Hell, she’d help do it too.

The portraits of old bigoted ancestors didn’t help the atmosphere either, spewing their prejudicial hate in her direction and calling him a disgraceful blood traitor for marrying her-regardless against his wishes-and had him screaming in rage at them, aiming his wand and firing muting spells and even just setting some ablaze to assure his seriousness in his standing that their opinion mattered little to him.

She had her wand gripped tightly against her thigh, always on alert and would forever have to be around him with a mantra playing over and over in her head.

‘Never turn your back’

‘Never let down your guard’

‘Never apologize for anything’

Just because she had to live here didn’t mean she had to let him have his way.

If he so much as called her that word even once she’d Silence him so hard that he’d never be able to speak English again.

After the portraits were mollified and the smoke cleared, she realized he was still standing there with his wand in hand, chest heaving, his blood boiling, his pupils dilated with the adrenaline rush from destroying something, and how they met hers…

At the same time a thought crossed her mind…

The only way out of this marriage…

Was

Death

In an instant, wands were raised, spells flying from mouths, furniture exploding, artwork burning, vases crashing and smashing, flower arrangements fluttering in the wake of powerful magic fueled by powerful emotions by two powerful people.

It was the only time they danced.

They spun.

They twisted.

They side-stepped.

They moved in fluid motion in opposition as the walls around them burned and crumbled. All that was Malfoy manor was reduced to rubble in their wake, nothing held sacred or in regard for elven safety as spells and shields had missile magic rebounding off any available surface, their voices like a song of Valkyries and Dragons, engaged in a battle to end all battles.

To free themselves of each other, of their requirements, of their expectations.

Prison or Death.

Prison or reassigned another potential match.

Either was preferred.

What out there could possibly be worse than this?

Who out there could be any worse than this?

I fought a war to end the injustice and prejudice and wake the government up to their outdated beliefs and laws just to be bound like chattel to a man who’d rather kill me?

I obliviated myself from my parents’ lives and sent them out of the country for their safety all due to the actions of this man’s family!

I fucking spoke on his behalf at his trial because his reluctance to identity us helped in our victory!

And this is what I get in return?

No good deed goes unpunished.

Blood was on the floor. Fire along the walls. Smoke in the air. Ringing in her ears. Blinding lights flashing in her eyes. Pain ricocheting up her body. Raw muscles in her throat.  
She was certain he was in the same shape.

Her energy was failing, she could feel it. She’d taken a shot but knew she landed one of her own. Both were using this moment to catch their breath, gather their bearings and think up one last final curse to throw to put an end to all of this.

Once and for all, the age old debate would come to a conclusion.

In a battle to the death, who would win?

Highly compatible in magic, yes.

Highly compatible in intelligence, yes.

Highly compatible in stubbornness? Absolutely. 

Both too prideful to bow down now. Not after years of schoolyard bullshit and years of war and the aftermath, of therapy and terrible coping mechanisms and nightmares in which they couldn’t escape each other.

Had the Wizengamot truly believed they would heal each other?

Somehow see past the pain and bitterness and complete opposition the other lived in?

How delusional were they to think they could throw these two in a cage and have them not kill each other?

A lion and a serpent could never be friends. Could never love each other.

One filled with strength, one filled with venom.

One was warm-bloodied. The other cold.

One was a social animal, thriving within a group, working as a team. The other lived alone, hiding in shadows, stalking prey.

They would maul each other, wound each other, and destroy each other.

No doubt the sight of smoke and spellfire had alerted those far out in the countryside, making calls for Aurors to come. And once they did, who knows what would happen.  
Their wands confiscated? Magically bound to each other in a ridiculous ritual that prevented bodily harm? Both being Imperioused to never attack the other again?

This needed to end.

Here and now.

One final spell.

They both leapt up from their hiding spots, stepping out into the open, no holds barred, one final strike to swing. One spell that was Unforgivable. 

Come tomorrow there would be only one standing.

After all, she made a vow.

And she always kept her word.

“Avada Kedavara!”

**Author's Note:**

> companion piece to: Can't Buy Your Way Out Of This One


End file.
